


cloud memory

by july2008



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/july2008/pseuds/july2008
Summary: And then he breaks into a smile, and the sight of it is enough to melt Markus’ core processors if he had any.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	cloud memory

They’re thirteen when a fight breaks out at recess.

It’s bit of an unfair fight, really. It’s not like he was trying to start anything, but the seniors pushed first. So Markus pushes back.

(He thinks about the scolding he’ll get from Carl afterwards but promptly pushes that to the side too.)

Somewhere through all the fists flying here and there he’s a little awestruck at a blond kid who leaps into the fray, shortly followed by two others, and soon they’re an unstoppable force to be reckoned with. They’ll be the talk of the school for weeks, bathed in glory for finally standing up to their oppressors.

The sad reality is that it lands him in after-school detention. Writing lines. Along with his three accomplices he barely knows, except that they were ballsy enough to jump to his defense. When the principal had questioned who started it, they had shifted their gazes to the floor. It was an immediate silent pact.

On top of that, Markus is in one piece thanks to them, and he’s not quite sure how to break the ice other than a flimsy peace offering.

“Jimmy’s Diner has really good milkshakes. We could head there after.”

North has her arms crossed, all glares and suspicion. “What’s it to you?”

“…The milkshakes?” He’s lying; everyone knows the milkshakes are awful.

“I’m game,” Josh says. “My parents are going to kill me anyway, so I don’t plan on going home soon.”

He turns to the blond kid who’s sitting in the back of the class, already sporting a bruised cheek. “You in?”

Simon simply shrugs, and it’s such a stark difference from the Simon that took a punch for him earlier. Once they’re let out, Markus learns that he has a twin, a polar opposite with a nasty temper.

“Where the hell were you?” Daniel kicks a rock in their general direction.

“Detention,” Simon mumbles, and Daniel raises his eyebrows because that’s usually _his_ thing.

“My fault,” Markus quickly interjects.

Raised brows are immediately furrowed, but he doesn’t ask questions.

The milkshakes aren’t nearly as bad as Markus thought they’d be, or maybe it was the company that made them better. He tells Carl about his day when he gets home and prepares himself for a lecture when Carl just shakes his head, all too entertained by his story.

“They sound like interesting, good people you’ll want to have around for a long time,” he tells Markus.

Markus thinks Carl’s just glad he’s made new friends.

They’re fifteen, and they’re supposed to go to the movies when Simon doesn’t show.

It’s only natural that the movies are abandoned and Markus launches a three-man rescue party in search of him, making a beeline straight for his house.

They try throwing rocks at his window at first. When Simon doesn’t answer, Markus, ever brave and stupid enough to scale the large tree right outside, starts climbing. Halfway through, he realizes calling the tree ‘large’ is a severe understatement.

“Can I have your stuff if you fall and die?” North asks from below, and Josh shushes her.

Markus ignores her, but the vertigo? Not so much.

He knocks on the glass once he’s near Simon’s window, and by the disheveled hair and death glare he’s throwing at him, it’s Daniel who answers.

“Wrong window, dipshit.”

Oh.

Two windows down, Simon’s head pops out, and there’s a slight panic in his voice at the sight of him clinging onto a branch several feet above ground. “Markus, you’re insane.”

“Takes one to know,” he says, grinning as Simon climbs out onto the ledge towards him. “Why didn’t you show?”

“Curfew. Daniel got us in trouble,” Simon explains hastily, and grips Markus’ shirt because god forbid if Markus fell to his death, on his front lawn of all places.

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

He can’t say no to Markus. He could never.

“We’re gonna be late, just do a backflip down!” North shouts, and Josh shushes her again.

But she’s right. By the time they get to the movies, it’s too late for any showings, and Simon frowns.

“You could’ve just gone without me,” he says.

And Markus sighs, because this kid can be a little too dismissive of his role in their group, like he thinks he’s expendable or something. It’s admirable. It’s worrying.

“It’s more fun when you’re here, dummy. We’re a complete set,” Markus says. “Besides, I can’t control these two.”

Oh, but it’s already enough to set off a bashful smile for Simon, who tries his very best to hide it but fails. Spectacularly.

The stunt he pulled with the tree-climbing was worth it, Markus decides. It’s slowly dawning on him what this might mean though he’s not sure what exactly. He’s about to comment on it when North cuts him off.

“I smell trouble.”

“You don’t smell shit,” Josh says.

“I do too! It’s like a sixth sense.”

Count on North to be right again because true enough, they see Officer Perkins in his cruiser pull up to the diner. Probably to order his usual coffee and doughnuts for a long nightshift ahead, which probably involves picking on defenseless teens such as themselves.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Because fuck Officer Perkins, that’s why.

They have enough cash for eight rolls of toilet paper which doesn’t seem like enough, but to liven up their ongoing feud with Perkins, it’ll do.

Turns out car mummification is a grueling task, but it’s go big or go home. Hopped up on unlimited energy, Markus starts running round and round, wrapping the car at incredible speeds with their last roll. The other three stand back to admire their half-assed attempt at friendly vandalism; it might just be their best work yet.

“You four!”

Time to run.

The dizziness has Markus tripping over his own feet, but Simon grabs his hand and they laugh as they run.

When he gets home, Simon’s curfew is doubled down (much to Daniel’s amusement), but it’s never stopped him before.

They’re eighteen, and tomorrow is Markus’ birthday.

He’s asked Markus to meet him at the park by the bridge, and Simon’s early, hoping to surprise him with an early gift.

Well, a mixtape as a gift didn’t seem like a bad idea, but now he’s fidgeting with the cassette in hand, turning it over and over (“Who the fuck still uses cassettes?” Daniel had asked. Markus did, because it’s _Markus_ , in his artistic and musical endeavors to find rare songs), and the slow crawl of his anxiousness is here in full swing.

How would Markus respond? What if this gesture seemed like something else? Something private that he could never in a million years tell to a living soul, like “Hey, I think I like you, but I can’t let you know” and this mixtape betrayed that?

He had avoided the truth at first, but there was no getting around it. Or through it. Because it’s _Markus_ , and he’s just Simon. Besides, this thing—whatever Simon wants deep down—is dumb. He knows it, Markus probably knows it, and so does the whole world.

What was he doing.

In a fit of pure anxiousness, he steps forward and flings the cassette over the railing and into the river. And then he pauses, realizing the gravity of his mistake.

“What was that?”

Oh no.

Markus Manfred, always punctual, always keeping his promises, (always kinda perfect).

His sudden arrival leaves Simon at a loss for a shitty excuse, or any words for that matter. He hopes, prays, that Markus hasn’t seen too much. Except he _has_ seen too much, and unfortunately for Simon, he knows when to be kind but also knows when to tease and prod.

Markus crosses his arms. “Unless you tell me what you threw, I’m jumping in to get it myself.”

Knowing Markus, he really would. Simon considers if it’s a better idea altogether to throw himself into the river.

“School project. Bad grade,” he lies.

His inner turmoil must’ve been showing because Markus inspects him for good while, then waves it away.

“Let’s go, they’re waiting at Jimmy’s. You can tell me on the way.”

Simon doesn’t.

Instead, he holds onto Markus’ jacket as he rides on the back of his bike, and thinks this is the closest he’ll get. He’s not sure if he feels relief, and there’s definitely regret as he has less than a day to come up with a new gift, but the time spent with Markus after that eases his thoughts.

They’re twenty-three, and they’re late for a party.

“Alright, who’s babysitting?”

North is quick to back out. “My license expired.”

Surprisingly, so does Simon. “I, uh, drove last time.”

“It’s you and me, Josh.”

“Rock paper scissors then, best of three.”

And that’s how Markus ends up sober on a couch in a sea of drunk, sweaty college students while the others are whisked away by drinks. Maybe Josh takes pity on him, because he sticks close to Markus later on and it’s a nice time to catch up, ask how their exams are going, what they’ve been up to—

“HEY.”

Simon’s voice makes the both of them jump, and they turn to see him with a completely plastered grin on his face. It’s a rare sight seeing him like this, and they’re in for a treat.

“Hey yourself Mr. Confident. How many drinks did you have?”

“Four and counting.” North appears, smiling at her handiwork.

Markus really should thank her, because the way Simon’s face lights up so freely when he meets his eyes is endearing. Actually, everything about Simon is endearing, has been especially in the last couple of months, and it’s a thrilling revelation each time Markus notices.

It also overtakes all rational thought and leaves him staring like an idiot. He can’t pinpoint when he started noticing, but it was the little things Simon did at first: early morning coffee runs for the four of them, draping a blanket over him whenever he fell asleep while studying (which he suspects is Simon’s doing), running across campus to bring him an umbrella on pouring days… Now the list is growing ever so slightly out of control.

Hours later the party’s still far from over, but it’s getting late, and Markus is their designated chauffeur after all. He drops them by off one by one (North gives him a nudge and a wink and he rolls his eyes), and soon it’s him at the wheel and Simon in the passenger seat and the quiet hum of the radio between them.

“You missed out tonight.” It’s Simon who breaks the silence.

“It’s fine. I’ll have my turn next time—”

“Stole you something to make up for it.” He pulls out a bottle from under his shirt, and Markus can only laugh at how well he’d hidden it during the whole ride. “C’mon, you can sleep over at my place.”

It’s a recipe for disaster, but the offer’s too tempting. Fuck it.

It’s almost four in the morning by the time they get to his place, but Simon leads him to the backyard where he clambers into a hammock that’s clearly too small for two people.

“It’s gonna break if I get on,” Markus notes.

“Head’s starting to hurt. Get on before I change my mind.” Simon pats the empty space beside him.

Correction: drunk Simon is confident _and_ demanding. Markus grins and does as he’s told.

The bottle empties out rather quickly as they pass it back and forth, and the warmth in his chest has Markus settling against Simon in the cool night. Soon, he mellows into a state of total euphoria of just _being_ in the moment, swaying under the stars with his head resting against his.

This should be making him self-conscious, regarding the physical contact and all, but it doesn’t. It’s… nice. He can’t tell if it’s from the pleasant buzz or the growing acceptance that he’s been dancing around these feelings he has for Simon. Because being around him feels like home away from home. Like hugs where you don’t let go for a long time, like the first streaks of sky blue or golden yellow on a fresh new canvas in a sunlit studio (and yeah, these analogies sound weird but he can’t think straight).

“Markus?”

“Yeah?”

Simon stops the hammock from swaying and hesitates for the longest time, long enough to sow doubts into Markus whether they’re finally going to cross _that_ line.

He starts hearing his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. His thoughts are an incoherent jumble but loud, so loud that maybe they could be heard—

“Markus, I— I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He had six drinks plus the bottle, not four, North corrects Markus the next day. He hopes Simon doesn’t remember anything.

They’re twenty-seven, and the entirety of the world grows larger before them.

It gets harder to read Markus, probably because they’re both painfully oblivious, but mostly because Simon notices him taking on more responsibilities than what seems humanly possible. It’s not a matter of whether or not Markus can handle it— there isn’t anything he can’t do.

Simon worries because Markus doesn’t know his own limits.

He chases after books too heavy to carry, words of dead scholars and philosophers rotting twenty feet beneath the earth. North tells him it’s stupid; no one gets to tell her how to live her life.

“What do you think of all this?” she asks Simon.

He shrugs. “It’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s hurting my ears.”

Josh, however, is entertained by the idea of having principles to follow. But he’s not quite as ready to take a leap of faith like Markus.

“You gotta learn to live a little,” Markus is telling him, and Josh looks hurt by that.

“We’re not in our prime.”

“Might as well make it our prime.”

“Make your own history, Josh. Start some fires, get everyone a little nervous,” North says, and she’s only half joking.

“Maybe not that extreme,” Markus laughs. “She’s not wrong though.”

But his words stay with Simon throughout the night, for the next couple of days, weeks, months.

Simon finds himself thinking what his own prime might consist of. He’s young still, with opportunities and choices he’s able to explore and fulfill, yet… It all leads back to them— this small family bickering before him, built on shitty milkshakes and well-intentioned misdemeanors in their youth that’s grown into a steady support and love for each other.

Maybe it’s not about what he wants but rather the wellbeing of his friends. Yeah. He’s okay with that. He’s already woven himself so deeply into a messy entanglement of heartstrings for them.

And Markus, loud and ambitious, always taking on too much not only for himself but for others as well.

It makes sense when he says he wants to travel and experience what the world has to offer, help people, start movements. But he does so while encasing himself in that stoic exterior, like if he shows an ounce of imperfection or struggle, he’ll seem too human in all their fragileness to be capable of doing anything and everything.

It’ll consume him, if anything.

With dreams as big as his, he’ll need support. A foundation. There’s a part of Simon that wishes he could be more than that, but no, it’d be another thing Markus would have to deal with. He takes solace in the fact that what they have is enough.

“Pace yourself, Markus,” Simon says. “You’ll burn out if you don’t.”

But Markus smiles at him with that crooked grin of his, like he’s got it all figured out. “You got my back, right? Wherever I go?”

He’d follow him to the very bitter ends of a failing revolution. “Of course I do.”

They’re thirty, and it was supposed to be a nice reunion dinner.

In truth, it was supposed to be a distraction from work and the worrying health update from Carl. But events rarely go as planned, and Markus isn’t sure what the argument was about or how it started, but it escalates.

He’s weary of their fights, but it’s worse than the usual ones. When Josh tries to rein her in, North pushes them away hard. She says she’ll burn bridges and not care, and Markus worries if the others are thinking the same.

So dinner gets cut short, leaving him waiting outside the restaurant while Simon tries to catch a cab back home.

He takes a good long look at Simon, and it hits him, how Simon and Daniel start to look more alike. It’s hard to tell from a gradual change, but the lines start to blur when Simon looks more secluded each passing day and Daniel learns to keep his outbursts to himself.

Even after all these years, it tempts Markus to reach over and brush his strand of hair to the side. It seemed like everyone was going through personal battles of their own— an inevitability of growing up and trying to defy the confines of society, or some bullshit like that.

“Penny for your thoughts? You seem troubled.”

Markus blinks and realizes he’s talking to him.

Simon tilts his head, wearing a gentle smile. “Where’d you go?”

“Just… got a lot on my mind.” Markus digs his hands deeper into his pockets. “Guess the fight got to me.”

“They’ll be okay, more or less. Don’t worry, I’ll check in on them.”

There it is: Simon’s safety net, catching them as always, keeping them glued together. 

“How do you do it?” Markus asks. He tries to search for the right words as Simon waits for him to elaborate. “You’re… focused. Like you know what to do and what choice to follow at critical moments. You don’t let fights or indecision get in the way.”

Simon looks surprised, like he’s not sure what he’s done to give that kind of impression. “I guess it’s in my programming,” he jokes.

Markus smirks, but it relieves some of the tension he didn’t know he was holding. “Say we don’t follow our programming anymore. Sometimes I see you just drop what you’re doing to fix a problem or help someone.”

He thinks he sees a faint blush, but Simon’s already looking away. It takes him longer to give a proper reply.

“It’s easier to see things more clearly when you find something that keeps you focused.” It’s a vague answer, and as an afterthought he adds, “I don’t think anybody’s equipped to deal with hardships with clarity. But we don’t have to deal with it alone.”

It’s an invitation, asking Markus to let him in. He could open up, but—

“You’re starting to sound like Carl.” That routine deflection comes out before Markus can stop himself, because he’s _fine_ , he’s not stressed from upholding expectations or duties alone, really, he’s not.

Simon laughs, but it almost sounds bitter. “I guess Carl has that effect on people.”

There’s now a thin veil of pretend-everything-is-okay between them, internalizing their thoughts and troubles. Markus wants to tell him what’s eating away at him, the never-ending itch to fix everything and keep himself busy, but it would worry Simon to no end. He can’t do that to him.

If they were machines, robots following their lines of code and programming, it would be easier to repress messages from the brain. No bouts of existential dread or identity crises. At best, a cloud connection that relayed a dataflow of necessary information. They could deal with problems and objectives in a series of linear steps. Be repaired, taken apart and put back together if malfunctioning. A factory reset for a fresh new start. It wouldn’t be complicated. It would be easy.

Wishful thinking aside, Markus feels lost, more than he was before. An early midlife crisis, he supposes.

But Simon’s cab is here, and he’s already in the process of getting in. Markus learns that his words carry weight and things left unsaid are heavier.

They’re ageless, and they’re at the forefront of a revolution.

The only time Markus had seen this much blue was when they distributed thirium packets to those in need in the cargo hold of a dying freighter, feeling hopeful together. Now, they’re riddled with bullets, and the hope they’ve held onto bleeds into anger.

He is the face of a crusade, supposedly fearless and resolute above all else, holding the fate of their lives and futures in his hands. Except with each death, it cements the doubt and fear that grips his broken heart in more ways than one.

When Simon gives up his heart to him, he thinks _no, not like this_ , but Simon doesn’t take no for an answer.

_Let me do this_ , Simon’s eyes say. Their cause is too important for Markus to refuse, and it’s been said too many times.

They’ve been here before, on that rooftop, when he pressed a gun into Simon’s hands on the hope that he would come back to him. But he won’t this time. They both know, and there’s not much to be said, only for the static to be replaced by a soothing beat of a new heart that’s always belonged to him in a way.

He thinks he’s been given a second chance at the expense of something so terrible, but can only hold out for so long when they’re outnumbered and dying left and right.

Markus keeps pushing. Because he’s not a stoic leader with a savior complex he’s led them to believe, not if he runs out of people to fight for. He’s not the embodiment of ra9, however unique he may be, not when he’s grasping at straws to keep them alive.

He was somebody’s son. Traces of his old self still lingering somewhere behind all that hurt he’s accumulated in such a short time. He was somebody’s sacrifice out of pure commitment and love.

They’re ageless, yet finite, and when a bullet rips through another one of Markus’ vital biocomponents, their revolution is at its dying breath and he along with it.

He ignores the countdown warnings flashing in desperation and watches the others retreat into hiding. Back to abandoned freighters and church ruins. Hardwired to find comfort in their last moments.

Instead, Markus finds his way back to a familiar barricade where a lone PL600 sits motionless.

(He looks so calm.)

(They’ve been here before, but it’s different each time.)

They say androids don’t feel pain. But a glitched, mutated code in their system was all it took to make him feel a myriad of emotions, encapsulated into pain squeezing at his biocomponents, shooting illogical ticks in his core processors. Grief, anger, sadness, empathy, love— all of it was overwhelming in the wake of being alive, and he’s no longer a stranger to any of it.

It eases though, as Markus takes his place beside Simon. The snow conceals what’s left of the plaza and offers him an illusion of a moment’s peace.

There are outcomes to reflect on, the choices he’s made, their downfall from Jericho to here, but he thinks of kinder circumstances where they’re safe. And they’re okay. And they make it through everything.

If he had enough time and energy, he’d preconstruct paracosms he could only ever dream of, ones where they just _are_ , in existence, free to love and do simple things. Where they bleed blue in one, red in another, grow old and experience emotions just the same.

With his head resting against Simon’s shoulder, Markus shuts down.

They’re thirty-one when they’re drawn back to each other. Like they always do.

Actually, it’s their annual trip to the lake house that brings them together (courtesy of Carl, bless him).

It’s a distinct feeling, that somewhere in their time together he’s failed them. But the indescribable hollowness and empty ache slowly starts to fade when Markus sees the three of them waiting for him with their suitcases and ice coolers at the ready for the much-needed weekend getaway.

He’s not sure why he doubted them coming; of course they showed up. Of course they did. They’re stuck with each other, whether they like it or not, and he smiles at the thought as he helps them load their bags.

There’s still a vacant look about him though, and Simon brushes him arm, worried. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Whatever’s on Markus’ mind dissolves at the touch. Suddenly, it’s all he can think about. “Daniel’s still a no-show?”

“Still scared of water. And heights. One day though,” Simon muses. Then he adds in a lower voice, “Don’t let North drive through downtown. She’ll give in to her road rage.”

North, having overheard, punches his arm in reply. “Don’t push it. I renewed my license for this.”

Markus’ smile only grows. “If she wants to drive during rush hour, the car’s all hers. I have insurance anyway.”

“Markus, don’t indulge her,” Josh says. It’s more of a plea than anything, having experienced North’s driving firsthand.

“Fuck you too, Josh.” But she grins as she says it, and there’s no real venom behind it.

Sometimes they still feel like kids around each other. Like they’re thirteen and yet to experience a world of confusion and no easy answers, and it never really stops. Maybe it’s why they continued to stick together.

When North drives, Josh pulls out a map because Michigan’s roads are still a clusterfuck of a maze and swamped with traffic.

“That was supposed to be a left turn.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s a right.”

“Take the next exit.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“You missed it.”

“Oh my god, if you don’t shut up I’ll crash this car right now.”

Josh ends up putting the map away partially because he’s given up and they’re surely lost, but he’s also learned to trust North in finding the right way. Markus is right; he needs to live a little or he’ll get an aneurysm at this rate.

When Markus drives, it’s after several hours and multiple pit stops later when he starts getting tired. Simon, ever helpful, strikes up small talk to keep him from dozing off.

They’re getting close to their destination when the view changes from dense trees to a scenic route of impossibly orange sunsets and reflecting waters.

“Pretty, but not as pretty as your paintings. Reminds me when you got into landscapes and painted nothing but lakes for a while,” Simon says.

“That was because you told me you preferred my landscapes compared to my abstract paintings.”

He stifles a laugh. “Can’t believe you remember that.”

“There are a lot of things I remember about you.”

It slips out, but Markus is determined to make it mean something. He reaches for Simon’s hand.

Simon doesn’t say anything in return and keeps his eyes on the lake, out of shyness perhaps, but squeezes back.

Maybe it’s because they’re older, and their backs are sore and their attention span isn’t what it used to be, but the car ride was exhausting. They hadn’t even bothered unloading the kayak or their bags once they arrived. But weekend trips are only three days long, so they kicked things off with a couple of drinks and a movie.

Gone are the days when they were young and would sneak off to Rose’s farm down the road to steal watermelons during summer nights. They were good at it too, leaving no witnesses or casualties. Now they’re just lazy.

Markus is already restless. He’s been shifting in his seat for the past hour, redirecting straying thoughts and such, but he has a hunch it has nothing to do with how much of a bore the movie is.

He steals a glance at Simon who looks equally restless and tired, and takes the cue to save them both. “Want to ditch these two and join me for a beer outside?”

Simon looks to North, who’s passed out on his lap and Josh, who’s drooling on his shoulder (they definitely feel older and it _shows_ ). “I’ll join you if I can get them off me.”

He seems grateful for the distraction, and Markus is as well, passing his silent thanks to the other two for the opportunity.

At some point, you stop being scared of things. Like confessions to a friend you’ve held dear your whole life. Doesn’t mean Markus knows what he’s going to say though, and it’s becoming apparent as he waits outside. His talent in giving perfectly improvised speeches at job meetings is useless to him at the moment.

“You forgot the beers,” Simon points out once he meets him at the docks.

“I forgot you already had a few, and I know for a fact you can’t handle too many,” Markus says wryly, and resists the urge to pocket his hands. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

“I’m not in trouble, am I?”

His chest swells; he’s missed Simon’s stale quips terribly. “No! No, it’s the opposite actually.”

A pause.

“Are _you_ in trouble?”

That earns Simon a small laugh from him; it’s the safety net and tension release all over again.

“I think I might be,” Markus says, not missing a beat. It sounds godawful cheesy out loud, but if he stops there he’ll never get the words out. “Think I found my focus. Or my muse, for a better word. Thanks to you.”

Okay, that sounded better in his head. Kind of. Maybe not.

Simon gives him a look. And then he breaks into a smile, and the sight of it is enough to melt Markus’ core processors if he had any, all the while trying to keep his beating heart at bay.

“That was a terrible line and I think I’m inclined to deserve a little better than that,” Simon teases, still beaming.

Markus laughs. “Fine. ‘You were right about taking it easy, what you said last year helped me out, and I missed you,’ how’s that?”

“That’s a bit better.”

“You’re infuriating, Simon, you know that?”

He hums. “I’ve been told.”

Markus continues to grin sheepishly as the laughter dies down, despite the initial anxiety being replaced with unease at how he’s left the topic open to interpretation.

They watch the still trees and waters for a while, and when he gazes up at the stars in the night sky, that feeling of being lost, in a galaxy so huge, slowly edges its way into him. There are a multitude of things he wants to talk about, too many to even seem possible to send through a connection of an interface. Where does he even start?

Simon must have caught on because his expression softens. “I know it can get overwhelming for you at times,” he starts, his words pulling him down back to earth, grounding him. “I’ve seen you, brave and quiet, and pulling through the best you can. I’m— We’re here for you, whenever you need us.”

Markus quietly exhales. It’s all the reassurance he needs, guided by his focus and clarity.

“I love you,” he says. It comes out so easily, so readily, with so much gentle fondness and care.

Simon stares at him. There’s no smile that follows after.

The look on his face when Markus says it is… It almost looks like disbelief, as if after so, so long, something so painstakingly hard was done so easily, just like that. And Markus knows, he _knows_ , about the pangs of uncertainty and yearning of things just out of reach. There’s been a lot of that lately, always tugging at his heart.

“You don’t,” Simon says quietly.

“I do,” Markus says, and he finds himself grinning again despite Simon’s words, not in jest or to mock, but because he doesn’t quite believe he’s said it either, that it’s finally out there for him to hear. “I think I have for a long time. You’ve always been there for me and—”

But then Simon is pulling him in for a kiss. And Markus can’t help but smile against his lips when he does, and presses closer.

When he kisses him, it feels like a million things, everything he’s wondered about countless times, wonderfully new and familiar settling inside him. He’s never really found the right word for it, but then it fits.

It feels like Simon.

Simon, who jumped into fights for him. Followed him without question. (Sacrificed himself for him more times than he ever should have.)

If only Markus had done this years ago when they were young and carefree; the adventure it would’ve been to experience it all with him, together, even through the aches and uncertainties. But they’re here now. There’ll always be what-ifs and what-could’ve-beens, but growing up was an inevitability. So was falling in love.

They would’ve been okay either way.

Simon is the first to pull away, his disbelief then spur-of-the-moment response having shifted into an apologetic, embarrassed look, and opens his mouth to say something.

But Markus cups his cheek and steals another kiss, brief but sweet. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he whispers.

And Simon lets out a shaky laugh and leans into his touch, as if they’d done this before time and time again. “I’ll always be here for you,” he says softly, and kisses the palm of his hand. “You wouldn’t believe the things I’d do for you.”

There’s another tug at Markus’ heart that begs to differ.

“I think I already do.”


End file.
